


It's Only Forever

by SkysongMA



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Labyrinth AU, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Switching, but no spoilers, sort of a response to infinity war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 12:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkysongMA/pseuds/SkysongMA
Summary: When the smoke cleared, Steve was looking down at a stone maze, impossibly large and convoluted."You always do things the hard way, you know that?" Bucky's voice was quiet, almost sad."I wouldn't be me if I didn't," said Steve, with more confidence than he felt. He'd forgotten how far he used to have to look up to see Bucky's face, how easy it was for Bucky to hide his feelings by turning away or tilting his head back. "What happens now?""Now you have to come and find me," said Bucky, taking a step back. His leather riding boots creaked with each step. "Just remember that I gave you the chance. We could’ve done this like gentlemen, but you had to shove your head straight back up your ass."Steve let out a bark of surprised laughter. Bucky smiled: warm, familiar, the kind of thing Steve saw when he closed his eyes. Then Bucky disappeared in a haze of glittering smoke."What—""The clock has already started," said Bucky's voice, so close it felt like his lips were pressed to Steve's ear even though no one was there. "You'd better move now. We've covered a lot of ground together, you and me."





	It's Only Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [L1av](https://archiveofourown.org/users/L1av/gifts).



> Written for the Cap Reverse Big Bang 2018. Art by [Buckmebxrnes-art](http://buckmebxrnes-art.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. I know it might be difficult to read the fic after being dazzled by how great Bucky looks as Jareth.

 

[ ](https://ibb.co/fciZD8)

"It's just a crystal," said Bucky, running his gloved thumb over the curve of the glass. "But if you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams." He twisted his wrist around, rolling the ball over his knuckles, and something appeared within the depths. Steve would have had to lean closer to look into it, so he didn’t.

 

"I don't think it will," said Steve, rubbing his arms.

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows, still holding the crystal out like an offering. "Sure about that?"

 

 _All my dreams are about you_ , Steve thought, but he couldn't make the words come out when he was looking at Bucky's face. "I don't say things unless I'm sure."

 

Something shifted in Bucky's expression, but it was there and gone, like a summer storm cloud. He twisted his wrist back the other way, and whatever was within disappeared. "Suit yourself." He turned, suddenly, and threw the crystal hard and far. It hit the ground impossibly far away and shattered, releasing glittering smoke that shimmered like a mirage. When the smoke cleared, Steve was looking down at a stone maze, impossibly large and convoluted.

 

"You always do things the hard way, you know that?" Bucky's voice was quiet, almost sad. He swept his hand over his velvet jacket, shaking away some stray glitter.

 

"I wouldn't be me if I didn't," said Steve, with more confidence than he felt. He'd forgotten how far he used to have to look up to see Bucky's face, how easy it was for Bucky to hide his feelings by turning away or tilting his head back. "What happens now?"

 

"Now you have to come and find me," said Bucky, taking a step back. His leather riding boots creaked with each step. "Just remember that I gave you the chance. We could’ve done this like gentlemen, but you had to shove your head straight back up your ass."

 

Steve let out a bark of surprised laughter. Bucky smiled: warm, familiar, the kind of thing Steve saw when he closed his eyes. Then Bucky disappeared in a haze of glittering smoke.

 

"What—"

 

"The clock has already started," said Bucky's voice, like his lips were pressed to Steve's ear even though no one was there. "You'd better move now. We've covered a lot of ground together, you and me."

 

Steve glanced down at the maze. Was it closer now? Or had it just gotten larger and more complicated?

 

He glanced around, once, twice, just to make sure that Bucky was gone. But he was alone, on a barren plain that stretched out in every direction as far as he could see. So he put one foot in front of the other. It was all he'd ever been able to do.

 

***

 

At first, the maze didn't seem complicated. When Steve stepped through the enormous stone gates, he saw only one path. Each bend was sharp and abrupt, but there were no forks or pauses. After walking for what felt like too long, Steve turned a corner and came upon a courtyard. The ground was the same bland sandstone as the rest of the maze, and across from the entrance were two large doors that matched the gates to the labyrinth.

 

But the left wall of the maze had been replaced by a bar made of warm wood. Before this, the light in the labyrinth had been flat and uninteresting, as though he were standing in a film set that hadn't been set up. Here, the light was dim and rich. And his clothes were different: he was wearing his dress blues, the first set that fit him because he was finally big enough to fill them out.

 

Not that Steve noticed. The only thing he saw was the woman sitting at the bar, next to the only lamp. She wore a red dress—not _the_ red dress, the one Steve remembered, but something longer and more elegant, like from a medieval movie. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, and her expression was thoughtful and distant, like she had something on her mind more important than Steve could ever know.

 

She didn't turn to look at him, so Steve sat down beside her. The bar had only one other stool, and he knew it was his.

 

Peggy set her cheek on her hand but didn't speak.

 

"It's good to see you, Peg," said Steve quietly.

 

"You would say so," she murmured, then shook her head. "I didn't mean that." She turned to look at him; her gaze was direct and strong, the eyes of a hawk fixed on prey. She let out a long, slow sigh and put her hand on his knee. "It's good to see you too. Not that it means much here."

 

"This isn't the end, is it."

 

She shook her head. "Not by half, and you know it. You can't stay. You have to choose."

 

Steve looked over to the doors. They were identical: heavy and made of flat, featureless stone. But they weren't ordinary; they shimmered like a heat mirage. "Do you know the difference?" She just raised her eyebrows. "You do. Right. Can you tell me?"

 

She smoothed down the skirt of her dress. On someone less elegant, it would have been a nervous tic, but on Peggy it looked natural as breathing, just like everything did on Peggy. "That depends. For most people, one door leads you forward and one door leads you back. But you aren't most people, Steve. So I'll tell you this instead. One door lets you stay where you are. The other leads you somewhere else."

 

Steve's hands clenched on his knees. Her words made more sense here than they would have elsewhere: what he wanted was in the future, not the past. But—

 

He let out a breath. "It'd be nice. If I could stay, I mean."

 

Peggy put her hand alongside his cheek, looking up into his face with the sort of world weary expression he was too used to seeing there. He never could make her smile as much as he wanted to. "Yes, but neither of us are interested in nice. Give us a kiss and go on."

 

He kissed her cheek, gave himself a moment to linger and breathe in the scent of her perfume, something that didn't exist after the ice. "Love you," he said softly.

 

"Me too, dear," said Peggy, turning her face away before he could see her expression twist.

 

Steve got the hint. He got up from the bar and walked toward the stone doors. The bar receded much faster than he walked: the door was four or five steps away, and yet when he turned to look over his shoulder, Peggy was barely visible in the distance, her head propped on her hands.

 

Close up, the doors still looked identical, but they felt different, like the difference between pencil grades when he was drawing. The one on his right would loop back around, and he'd sit by Peggy and they could pick up talking like they'd never stopped. Like they'd never been forced to stop.

 

The one on the left went to Bucky. Maybe not right away, but sooner or later.

 

Steve pushed on the left door. The scene around him vanished at once; now he was stumbling through a narrow doorway. The room was dim and cramped and he knew where he was immediately, though he didn't want to. But his feet kept moving; the familiar weight of his shield was heavy on his arm. He reached the hole in the side of the train, bracing himself to see Bucky clinging to the side. To see him fall.

 

But Bucky was already gone, and the mountain view below him was still, not hurtling past. A set of shining silver stairs descended from the train to the ground below.

 

***

 

The walk to the ground didn't take as long as it should have—or maybe it took longer. Time felt fuzzy; Steve tried to count his steps but kept losing track.

 

When he set foot on the snow, the scene vanished, replaced by the flat stone of the labyrinth again. And he was wearing a different uniform: the dark blue and gray of his time with SHIELD.

 

There were again two doors in front of him, but he couldn't study them because two women were blocking his view, identical except for the hair. One wore hers long and curly, and she was leaning against the door frame with the kind of smile that promised things. She had on a floor-length, shimmering black dress with a slit all the way up to her hip, turned to expose the most skin. The other had her hair cropped short, and she was looking away from Steve, the barest of frowns tugging at her lips. She was wearing a black catsuit, one hand resting on the baton at her waist.

 

"Natasha?" Steve asked, folding his arms over his chest.

 

The long-haired woman raised one hand in a wave. Her voice was low and throaty, though she didn't meet his eyes when she smiled. "That's me."

 

"More or less," the other Natasha muttered, shifting her weight.

 

The first Natasha cut her eyes at her counterpart. "Don't listen to her. She's boring."

 

"And you're a liar," the second Natasha snapped.

 

"No, you're the liar." Long-haired Natasha tossed some of her curls over her shoulder and turned her gaze back to Steve. She leaned forward, cupping her hand around her mouth to speak in a conspirator's whisper. "That's the trick, you see. You have to guess which one of us is real and which one of us is the liar. But that's not hard. You know me."

 

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Why do I have to guess?" he said, resting his hands at his belt. Neither of them felt real—but not in the way that Natasha didn't feel real. The face she wore at first had been pleasant and vague, just complex enough to seem like a real person, but not the sort of person Steve cared to know. But now knowing Natasha was like walking into a house and sensing someone else watching you, even if you couldn’t see them. Knowing that if you walked far enough, you’d find them. That the person wanted to be found but couldn’t come to you.

 

"If you want to move through the labyrinth, you have to choose," said long-haired Natasha. "But since you're here, you've already made the right choice."

 

"Yeah, if you want to get yourself killed," muttered the other Natasha. She still hadn't looked at him; she worried her lower lip with her teeth, a tell Natasha never succumbed to.

 

"Steve Rogers never dies," said long-haired Natasha, tilting a little further and somehow exposing even more of the curve of her hip. Natasha never did that to him either. Kissing her had been like kissing a wall, because she knew that Steve didn't think of her that way.

 

"Neither of you are real," said Steve, before he meant to. "Where is she?"

 

Both Natashas frowned, parting their lips as though they would speak in unison. Then they vanished in a puff of glittering smoke.

 

The real Natasha stepped out of the cloud. She was wearing a white dress, and her hair had been dyed blonde, and she looked at him like she was waiting for him to turn away from her in disgust. He didn't like that look, and he wished that all their time together would have changed it by now, but Natasha only looked at people she trusted that way.

 

She stopped a few feet away from him, resting her hands on her thighs. "I didn't think that would work on you. Not much does."

 

Steve shrugged. "You don't play those games with me, Nat. I know that." She favored him with the smallest of smiles. "Can you tell me something?"

 

She shrugged, dissolving back into inscrutability again. "That depends."

 

"Why all of this? Why—" _Why can't I ever just find him,_ but he couldn’t make himself say it any more than he could say it to Bucky's face. Natasha never bullshitted him, though.

 

"Steve—" She laced her fingers together. "Did you ever think that some people don't want to be found?" And she turned and walked through the right hand door before Steve could respond.

 

By now he knew Natasha wouldn't lead him wrong, even if she disapproved of his choices. He followed her through the stone door before it could close behind her.

 

***

 

This time he came out on a highway in DC. The cars around him were smoldering wrecks; the street was littered with bullet casings, shattered glass, and twisted pieces of metal. But the path ahead of him was clear, and he found himself walking down it even though he wished his feet would stop moving.

 

His vision narrowed as he reached his goal: a black half-mask, abandoned on the ground. He dropped to one knee and picked it up. It reeked of sweat and blood, but Steve ran his fingers over the rough material anyway.

 

"Is it supposed to scare me off?" he said.

 

"Nah, not even Bucky's that stupid," said a voice over his shoulder. Steve turned his head to look, and everything vanished. The mask in his hands turned to smoke, and he was left holding air.

 

Sam was standing on a plinth between the two doors this time. He wore ordinary clothing—a t-shirt and jeans, the only uniform he put on without complaining. But the wings on his back were real, feathered in brown and white like a peregrine's and tall enough to brush the ground when he stepped toward Steve. "I've always been straight with you, haven't I?"

 

"You're about the only person.” Steve rested his hands at his belt and realized his outfit had changed yet again: his uniform was nearly black now, with only outlines to mark the star.

 

Sam shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He never responded to negative comments, from Steve or otherwise, but gave them the attention they deserved: none.

 

Steve sighed, exhausted even though he wasn't sure how long or how far he'd been walking. He wished for the bar stool next to Peggy, but here there was nowhere to rest. "What do you think it’ll take, really? When do I get to be done?”

 

"You talk like that’s ever going to happen. We don’t put down the things we pick up. We wouldn’t be who we are if we did." Sam's voice was level, but his expression was tinged with sadness. He always talked about Steve and Bucky that way, like things would fall apart no matter what they did.

 

And maybe he was right to feel that way.

 

"I can't stop looking," he said, unsure if he was still talking to Sam or if he was just repeating the same tired excuses he told himself. "That's not who I am either."

 

Sam shook his head. "I know that. He knows that. But he wants to give you a way out. And to be honest? Sometimes I wish you would take it. I can't stop you cutting off your nose to spite your face, but that doesn't mean I enjoy watching." He turned and climbed back up on the pedestal between the two doors.

 

"Aren't you going to tell me which one I'm supposed to pick?" Steve asked, leaning back on his heels.

 

Sam shook his head. "Doesn't matter which one you pick. You'll keep going, and I guess that's all that counts."

 

"I wish it wasn't a mess," Steve said, looking away. No use trying to stare him down; Sam never blinked first.

 

"Wishes aren't worth shit, and you know it," said Sam, but amiably. "Now go on ahead. You know what's waiting."

 

Steve didn't, but he walked through the right hand door anyway. This time, glittering smoke rose from the flat flagstones, wiping away the world around him.

 

***

 

The ballroom seemed to stretch on for miles. Steve let his eyes drift over the whole scene because there was too much detail to take in at once: everywhere you looked, couples in masks and sumptuous gowns and suits were crowded around each other, talking in voices too low to carry.  Nearly all wore red or silver. Tables weighted with rich food and elegant ice sculptures lined the edge of the dance floor. The floor itself was patterned with an elegant mosaic featuring a winter scene, but so many couples were dancing that Steve could only see the border beneath his feet, a design of snowflakes made of tiny crystal stones.

 

He brushed a hand over his brocade jacket, fingers lingering over the embroidery. His clothes felt strange, but also right at the same time; they fit him perfectly, like nothing he'd ever worn.

 

The dance floor was too crowded, so Steve turned and found a staircase behind him leading to the second level of the party. The staircase was crowded too, though no one was moving up or down; instead, couples and groups crowded together, pressing each other into the railing and whispering in each other's ears. Everyone’s gaze lingered on Steve as he passed. No one spoke to him, though he felt eyes on his back as he made it to the second level of the room. More revelers leaned over the railing, making lewd comments about the dancers. The tables here were small and round, made for intimate gatherings, but no one sat around them to admire the crystal decorations or eat the finger food left out on elegant trays.

 

Steve found an empty place at the railing. The people on either side of him leered, but Steve ignored them, looking down into the dancers. From above, the chaos didn't resolve itself; trying to study couples or individual dancers was like trying to follow one drop of dye in a river. And yet Steve felt compelled to look, like if he just kept watching, he'd see what he wanted.

 

Not that he knew what he wanted any more than he knew what he was doing here. He just had a feeling, and feelings never led him wrong.

 

But whatever he was searching for, it wasn't on the dance floor. Steve turned, only to find a large group had crowded in behind him, laughing and gossiping. Steve pushed his way through them and came to the other end of the balcony. His eyes moved over every masked face, but nothing felt familiar. Nothing felt right. He found the staircase and started down it, thinking maybe he could find a door to the outside and get some air to clear his head.

 

But this staircase was just as crowded, and the people were less inclined to move. Steve had to push his way down, and at the base of the stairs, someone pushed back, knocking him off his balance. Steve stumbled down the last step and bumped into someone with their back turned.

 

"Sorry, I—"

 

The man turned, slowly. He wore a red jacket that matched Steve's, with riding trousers and knee-high black boots. A hideous mask of a sneering monster covered the upper half of his face, leaving his mouth bare.

 

Steve stared. The man slowly lowered his mask and smiled, as free and easy as a dream.

 

"Good to see you, Buck," said Steve. It came out almost normal, even though his lips were numb. "You clean up well."

 

"Look who's talking," said Bucky. "Forgot your mask, though. Didn't anybody ever tell you how to dress for these things?"

 

"Guess I misplaced my invitation. Got the monkey suit, though." He tugged at the base of his jacket, glad for a reason to turn away from Bucky's face. It was like looking into the sun.

 

"So you did. Now come on." Bucky held out his hand, the same way he had to a hundred girls at a hundred dances. "You're here, you're prettied up, and I've been waiting for you long enough."

 

" _You've_ been waiting," said Steve, even as he put his hand into Bucky's. "What about me?"

 

"What about you?" Bucky led him out onto the dance floor. The musicians paused, and the dancers parted for him. Steve felt them staring, but he couldn't take his eyes away from Bucky's face. They reached the center of the ballroom, beneath a truly enormous crystal chandelier hung with icicles. The dancers had left them room on all sides, so Steve could stand up straight for the first time.

 

He still wasn't used to being taller. But it felt right when Bucky tipped his head back a little and smiled up at Steve like they'd never missed any time together at all. 

 

Bucky laced their fingers together. "Now the way I see it, we could carp at each other until the cows come home, or we could dance." He didn't give Steve a chance to respond. The music started again, something sweeping and dreamlike, the sort of thing you imagined halfway between sleep and waking. And Bucky led him across the ballroom like they'd been dancing with each other their whole lives.

 

"Shouldn't I lead?" Steve asked. The dance was too complex for a waltz, something with more steps and turns, and yet his feet never faltered. Bucky's hand was light on the small of his back, guiding him this way and that.

 

Bucky laughed. "Call me back when you don't have two left feet."

 

The song finished and flowed into a new one. More dancers joined them now, spinning round and round beside them. Steve and Bucky changed partners, stepping lightly from couple to couple: one moment Steve was dancing with a man even taller than he was and great curling ram's horns; then he was twirling a delicate woman with leaves in her hair; and then he was back with Bucky at the center of the room.

 

They might have danced for hours or only minutes; Steve never tired or grew bored. But finally they found themselves back at the edge of the dance floor, somehow away from the rest of the crowd. Steve didn't feel sweaty or tired or sore. He could have turned around and stepped back in with another partner like he was fresh.

 

Bucky pressed a crystal glass into Steve's hand. "Drink something."

 

The liquid inside looked like water, but it tasted like honey and heaven. Maybe it was the drink or maybe it was the dancing, but something made it easy to turn back to and take his hand again, run his thumb over Bucky's palm. "I'm glad you're here."

 

Bucky took the glass back and set it aside. "Where else would I be?"

 

There was an answer to that question, but Steve couldn't seem to think of it. Instead, he shrugged. "Dunno. But I felt like I should say it."

 

"You never could hold your wine." But Bucky turned, tugging on Steve's hand. "Come on, I want to show you something."

 

Steve let Bucky pull him away, though he glanced over his shoulder again at the dancing crowd. Everyone was watching them leave.

 

They came to the back wall of the ballroom. It was made of panels painted with frost designs and trees covered in snow, so realistic that Steve felt he might get frostbite if he touched them.

 

"Stand still for a minute," said Bucky. He reached up into Steve's breast pocket and came out with a heavy silver key Steve had never seen before. The surface was covered in frost crystals, but Bucky didn't seem to notice. He turned back to the wall and slid the key into it, even though there was no keyhole. The key still turned, and the panel opened like a door, revealing a silver spiral staircase. "Walk with me."

 

Steve followed Bucky up the steps. Every ten steps or so, a thin window showed the outside world. Steve wanted to stop and stare, to try and figure out where he was, but Bucky pulled him along until they reached the top. Again, they could have walked for hours or minutes, but Steve wasn't tired. If anything, he had more energy than he had in—years. Captain America needed less sleep than ordinary people, yes, but he was still exhausted all the time, no matter how much he rested.

 

He hadn't even realized how tired he was until he didn't feel it anymore. Like he was twelve and asthmatic, struggling for air so long that he didn't remember what full breaths felt like.

 

Bucky opened the door at the top of the steps. The room within had bare stone floors, covered only in thick rugs with intricate designs that Steve couldn't stare at for more than a moment without getting a headache. A huge four-poster bed hung with velvet curtains took up most of the space, but there was also a chair and tables, and a full-length set of glass doors, decorated with stained glass. The only light came from a candelabra by the bed; it should have felt oppressive and dark, but Steve was too relaxed to care.

 

Bucky let go of him, but only so he could unlatch the stained glass doors, revealing a balcony. Steve walked through without prompting, taking deep breaths of the cool night air. As he looked up at the endless sky, full of stars that made constellations he didn't recognize, his head felt clear for the first time.

 

He turned to Bucky,  who was looking down from the balcony at the sprawling city below.

 

"I don't understand any of this," Steve said quietly. "I thought—"

 

Bucky turned to him, frowning for the first time. "Do you really want to say that, Steve? Or can you just enjoy this for a few minutes? You don't have to stick your nose in _everything_ , you know. We can relax here. Just for once. Just for a change."

 

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky's expression stopped him. He knew something wasn't right, but he'd brought Steve along with him anyway. Steve reached over and cupped Bucky's face in his hand. Bucky didn't turn away; his eyes were fixed on Steve's, calm as the day was long.

 

"You're right," said Steve. He kissed Bucky, the way he'd wanted to since he was a kid just starting to understand that kissing wasn't something gross that only happened in movies. Something always held him back, but he couldn't remember it now.

 

Especially since Bucky leaned into the kiss, pulling Steve closer by tugging on the hem of his jacket. Bucky turned so his back was to the city below them, and Steve slotted against him, pressing Bucky into the railing even though their kiss was sweet and simple and slow, not heated.

 

"I keep losing track of time," Steve said, after they'd been kissing for another endless moment.

 

Bucky nipped the side of his neck, just hard enough to hurt. "You gotta stop that, Steve. Just kiss me, all right? You've made me wait long enough." He slid his hands up under Steve's silk shirt so he could dig his fingers into Steve's skin.

 

"I guess I have." Steve bent to kiss him again, deeper and harder this time. Bucky pressed up into him, his arms coming around Steve's neck.

 

"Come on," Bucky murmured. "We've got all the time we need."

 

For once. Maybe for the only time in their life. But Steve didn't say it. He put his hand in Bucky's and let himself be led over to the bed. Bucky parted the curtains, but they kissed again before making it to the feather mattress. It should have been more complicated.

 

Bucky pulled back. "You're still thinking too much. It's not a good look for you."

 

Steve pushed his hand through Bucky's hair. "So stop me."

 

Bucky shoved him sideways onto the bed and straddled him, his expression considering even as he pinned Steve down. Steve could have fought him, flipped him over, taken control. But it was nice to let someone else take charge. He tipped his head sideways, and Bucky leaned down to kiss the side of his neck, tracing the beat of Steve's pulse with his tongue. Bucky pushed the heavy jacket down off of him and threw it aside, leaving Steve in a collared shirt and a silver scarf. Slowly, Bucky undid the buttons, his fingers lingering over every piece of skin. When he reached Steve's belt, he pulled the shirt loose and tossed that aside as well.

 

"Those are nice clothes, Buck," said Steve, but lazily. He dug his fingers into Bucky's hips. "You're the one who's always telling me I oughta dress better."

 

"Yeah, to pick up girls, not me." Bucky ran his tongue over Steve's collarbone, pushing Steve down when he arched up. "I only told you that so I'd have a reason to take you shopping. Get you half naked without having to ask."

 

"I see how it is." He expected Bucky to go for his belt next, but Bucky just continued his slow progress down Steve's body with his mouth. "I might be less experienced at this, but I thought the point was to get me naked all the way."

 

Bucky chuckled and ran his tongue over Steve's nipple, which erased the next thing Steve was going to say right out of his mind. He tried to grind up against Bucky's hips, but Bucky pressed him down. "Stevie. Everybody knows unwrapping the present's half the fun. But you gotta sit still."

 

Bucky drummed his fingers against his lips. Then he took the scarf from around Steve's neck and tied Steve's hands together above his head. Steve could have snapped the scarf without trying. But he saw the way Bucky's eyes moved down his body, lingering over his biceps, and flexed instead.

 

"Always such a showoff," said Bucky. "Now be good for me and maybe I'll be good for you."  He bit the side of Steve's neck and sucked, then kissed the bruise. Steve kept himself still as Bucky finally ran his fingers over Steve's belt. Something in Bucky's eyes shifted as he ran his thumb over the leather. "Never did get a chance to look at you like this,"  he said, almost to himself. "Not like I wanted to, anyway."

 

Steve went still, studying Bucky's face. People who didn't know Bucky called him an open book, because they saw the parts Bucky wanted them to see: the friendly smile that could charm the pants of anyone who’d sit still long enough; the broad shoulders and rippling biceps that made people certain there couldn't be much going on upstairs. They said still waters ran deep, but sometimes noisy ones did too. Steve used to be able to see through it all, but that was before— _before_.

 

Steve didn't want to think about the particulars, not when Bucky was on top of him. "Thought we weren't going to talk about it," he said, cautiously. A test balloon.

 

Bucky blinked and came back from wherever he was—the same place Steve kept trying to go, probably. At least neither of them could help it. "I wasn't talking, I was looking. Lord knows you've done enough staring at me. Thought maybe I could return the favor, but you just can't behave, can you?" He pinched Steve's nipple, just hard enough to make Steve squirm.

 

His hands returned to Steve's belt, this time working their way underneath it to the sensitive V of Steve's hips. "That's all right. You can put on all the dumb costumes you want, but I know who you are."

 

Steve bit his lip, watching Bucky trace patterns on his skin without taking out his belt or pulling his pants down or anything else Steve would have appreciated. "Who's that?"

 

Bucky pinched him again. "A pain in my ass, obviously." But he leaned down and kissed Steve's mouth, hard enough to pin him to the bed. Steve strained up against him, but not because he wanted to be free, just so Bucky would kiss him harder without Steve having to ask.

 

God. It was good. It was so good.

 

He took in a breath as Bucky finally slipped his belt free. Before doing anything with Steve’s pants, Bucky ran his fingers over the skin just above the fabric, then slipped his fingers under it to touch the skin below. When he tugged on the hem, Steve lifted up his hips to make it easier to pull the pants down and counted himself good for not trying to rut up against Bucky's leg. He toed off his boots as Bucky tossed his pants away.

 

"These are nice clothes," Steve repeated, because they were.

 

Bucky dragged his teeth down the inside of Steve's thigh. "I'll get you more. You'll see."

 

Steve couldn't think of a good retort because Bucky was mouthing his way across his thatch, deliberately not quite touching Steve's cock. "Am I the only one who's going to be naked here?" But he was breathless, and Bucky hadn't even touched him yet. Just the thought of Bucky's mouth on his cock made him dig his fingers into his palms.

 

Bucky hummed against his skin. "I'll get to it. I'm gonna fuck you, after all."

 

Steve took in a sharp breath at the thought, even as he said, "Oh, is that what's going to happen?"

 

"I'm open to suggestions from the audience. But not right now." And he finally took Steve's cock into his mouth, easy as breathing. He took his time with it: running his tongue over and around the head to catch drops of precum; sucking in the whole length and letting it go; cupping Steve's balls in his hands and stroking them too.

 

Steve should have had more to say. He never shut up. But his whole world had shrunk to Bucky's warm mouth and his clever fingers, and words were just things like _more_ and _oh God_ and _please_. When Bucky pulled off, Steve whined, straining for more. But Bucky just smiled down at him, running his thumb over Steve's thigh. "That's what I like best about you, you know. So articulate."

 

"Fuck you," Steve managed, and Bucky grinned like a shark.

 

He pressed Steve down into the bed to lever himself up and walked away, to an oak side table next to the bed. "Don't move," said Bucky, as he inspected whatever was inside the drawers there. Steve had just been about to test the knots around his wrists. The scarf had tightened enough to bite into his skin, but the burn felt good. He liked the thought of the marks he'd have later, proof that this had happened. That he'd got what he wanted.

 

Bucky set what he'd found aside. "Tell you what. I'll give you the kind of show we usually have to pay to see."

 

Steve raised his eyebrows. "And I just have to sit here and take it?"

 

"It's called letting the master work, Stevie. Now shush." He started with the white gloves. The first one he pulled off slowly, finger by finger. He slid his still gloved hand over the bare flesh, tracing the lines of his palm. Then he lifted his gloved hand to his mouth and sank his teeth into the fabric, pulling each finger loose one by one. He set the gloves aside, brushing his hair back before shrugging out of his glittering jacket. Beneath he was wearing a ruffled long-sleeved shirt made of something sleek and shining that clung to his skin like he was wearing nothing at all. That he rolled up and pulled over his head, giving Steve plenty of time to savor the slow reveal of his abs, pectorals, biceps.

 

Steve wanted to dig his fingers into Bucky's skin, to feel how strong and solid he was. Run his tongue over the line of hair that disappeared into his riding pants. But he sat still, since he knew Bucky would stop if he moved.

 

Bucky stretched his arms over his head, as calm and relaxed as though they were just stripping down to swim despite the obvious bulge in his pants. "If I knew this shut you up, I'd have done it years ago," he said, closing his eyes as he leaned into the stretch.

 

"You really didn't notice?" Steve asked, before he could stop himself.

 

Bucky opened his eyes, still balanced on his toes. He came back down so he could put his hands on Steve's thighs and kiss Steve: lightly, thoughtfully, like he wasn't half naked and Steve wasn't all naked. "I don't think anybody ever asked us to do anything 'cause of our brains, Stevie."

 

He stepped back and toed off his riding boots, then spent a moment digging his toes into the thick carpet that covered the stone floor. The pants came next: they had buttons instead of a zipper, and Bucky took his time undoing each one, revealing more dark hair and skin. He wore nothing underneath, so when he finally stepped out of his pants, his cock came free right away. His dick was thick and hard, wet just at the tip. Bucky ran a hand over himself just once, smearing precum over his dry skin.

 

Steve swallowed, wondering what that would taste like.

 

But Bucky shook his head. "That's not what we're doing. This is about you." He rested one hand on Steve's hip. "Now close your eyes like a good boy." When Steve didn't do it, Bucky dug his fingers into Steve's hip. "Unless you want me to just leave you tied up here. There's a nice chair over in the corner that I've been meaning to jerk off in."

 

The idea made Steve dig his teeth into his lower hip with need. But he wanted Bucky's cock in him more, so he closed his eyes. "Are you gonna make me stay like this the whole time?" he asked, because half of him found the idea unbearable and half of him wanted nothing more than to have to keep his eyes closed the entire time, to imagine what Bucky's cock looked like as it sank into him.

 

"No, just for a little bit. You've got a good imagination. I want you to use it. And then I want to fuck you better than you could ever dream up. How's that sound?" He asked it just as he ran a finger over Steve and then reached inside him, so Steve could only answer in a breathless sort of gasp. Bucky gave him time to relax around it before he started to thrust, just slow enough to torture. "I'll take that as a yes." And he kissed Steve's hip, sweet and gentle.

 

He went on like that for a while, moving his mouth to different places on Steve's body as his finger worked in and out. When he finally added a second, Steve actually sobbed aloud with relief. Bucky chuckled, running his tongue over Steve's abs. "You're making this too easy."

 

Steve wanted to argue, but that required parts of his brain that were leaking out of his cock.

 

Bucky added a third finger, twisting and scissoring them. "I think I could get my whole hand in there if I wanted," he said, like they were talking about where to eat out. "It'd take me a while 'cause I want to be nice, but I really think I could."

 

"Why is that you're only nice to me when it drives me crazy?" Steve said, when he could remember what words were.

 

Bucky chuckled, still moving his fingers at the same pace: fast enough to keep Steve awake; slow enough to torment. "Stevie, I'm always nice to you. You just don't appreciate it. I’ll even prove it.” He reached up with his free hand and tore the scarf in half, so Steve could put his arms down.

 

Steve pushed himself up on his elbows so he could get a better look at Bucky's face: his hair mussed, his cheeks flushed, his eyes dancing like he'd thought of a really good prank. "I do appreciate it," Steve said. "I do."

 

Bucky ducked his head, grinning. "Aw, there you go, turning over all soft. You're such a sap." But his voice was quiet and fond, in a way that warmed Steve. "Lay back down and let me work."

 

Steve obeyed, but he huffed too. "If I let you do it yourself, I'm gonna be waiting another century for you to fuck me."

 

"Just for that," Bucky said, and before Steve could ask what he meant, Bucky'd pulled his hand free and replaced it with his cock. Steve sucked in a breath, then made himself relax; once the surprise passed, it was everything he wanted, and he groped around for Bucky's hips to pull him in tighter.

 

But Bucky pinned his hand down, propping himself up on Steve's thigh. "What part of sit still and be good do you never understand?" His voice was pleasantly low and breathless, and he started thrusting before Steve could think of a good comeback—slow and gentle. More torture.

 

"Jesus, am I gonna have to bribe you to get you to fuck me for real?"

 

"Do I look like a foreign government?" But he bent down and kissed Steve hard enough to press him into the bed, and he finally picked up the pace.

 

Steve dug his fingers into Bucky's ass to feel the muscles flex and tighten. The initial burn faded, replaced with an ache that no speed or intensity could satisfy. Steve pressed Bucky into him harder, harder, until Bucky shifted slightly and found the right angle, the one that made Steve drop his hands and dig them into the bed because suddenly any sensation other than Bucky's cock was overwhelming.

 

"Seriously, coulda shut you up years ago," Bucky muttered, but he was still breathless, and he bent down to drag his teeth along the side of Steve's neck.

 

Steve was trying to think of something to say when Bucky sank his teeth into the spot where Steve's neck met his shoulder and the whole world whited out. Steve could just feel Bucky's fingers around his cock, drawing out his orgasm until Steve almost couldn't bear it.

 

Just as Steve recovered, Bucky pulled himself free. He hadn't come; his cock was swollen and thick. Steve wet his lips so he could speak. "Is that it?"

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows at him. His stance was casual, his hands resting at his sides like they were back in the army, but he was panting. "Is that it," he muttered. "Here I kept saying I shoulda done this a long time ago, and you try and pick me up like that."

 

Steve tried to push himself up on his elbows again, but the movement made him realize he wasn't quite done coming; his hips jerked, adding to the mess smeared all over his stomach.

 

Bucky ran his tongue over his lips, looking at Steve like a present he'd been waiting to open. "No, that is not it, you smartass. But hold still."

 

Steve didn't argue with that since he wasn't entirely sure when he would be able to move again. He came back around pretty quickly after jerking off, but he could still feel where Bucky had been if he shifted his weight, and that wasn't helping.

 

And then Bucky knelt and licked the cum off Steve's stomach—and actually Steve _was_ ready for another go around.

 

Bucky chuckled, palming Steve and stroking him back into hardness. "Good. I didn't think I'd have to wait long, but I didn't feel like pushing the question either."

 

Steve had to swallow before he could talk. "Learn something new every day, I guess."

 

Bucky chuckled. "That we do. Now get up. You've got work to do." He stepped back from the bed to give Steve room to stand.

 

"I do?" Steve asked, scooting to the edge of the bed. Mostly to be an asshole more than anything, but also because he wasn't sure what Bucky wanted next.

 

Bucky looked down at his leaking cock and raised his eyebrows.

 

Steve dropped to his knees before Bucky could make any more smart remarks and took Bucky in his mouth, as deep as he could. Bucky tasted as good as Steve always thought he would, and he let out a broken noise of need when Steve hollowed his cheeks and sucked.

 

But he nudged Steve back after a minute. "Still not what we're doing, sweetheart." Steve nipped the inside of Bucky's thigh, just to hear him gasp, watch his hips jerk toward Steve's mouth again. Bucky put his hands on Steve's shoulders and pushed him away. "No, now it's my turn." Steve looked up at him blankly, and Bucky let out a disgusted sigh. "Do I have to draw you a diagram? I just gave a lengthy demonstration, but if needs must—"

 

Steve didn't respond, but that was because his mouth had gone dry at the idea. Bucky apparently saw the light bulb go on over his head, because he snorted. "Oh, good, I was starting to wonder if there was any blood going to your brain at all." He stretched out on the plush carpet, resting his hands behind his head.

 

"Remind me again why I love you," Steve muttered, turning around to look for the jar.

 

Bucky reached up and touched his hip so Steve would turn back to look at him. "Love you too, Stevie," and for once there wasn't even a hint of a joke in his eyes.

 

Steve bent over him, kissing him hard and deep. He lost track of time again: the only thing that mattered was Bucky's mouth, hot and hungry, and his body pressing up against Steve's.

 

But eventually they both needed more: Bucky groaned against his mouth, and Steve was rutting blindly against him. Steve grabbed the jar from the bed and paused, biting his lip.

 

Bucky lifted his head, eyes half-lidded. "Don't tell me you've got performance anxiety."

 

Steve smacked his knee. "No, I—"

 

But Bucky got there ahead of him, just like always. "You want another show?"

 

Steve pressed the jar into Bucky's open palm, and Bucky grinned, the one that made Steve want to give him a black eye and then kiss it better. He slicked up one hand and spread himself wide with the other. He didn’t move gently the way he had with Steve: he thrust hard inside himself, arching his back to reach deeper and moaning. Steve sat on his hands to resist the urge to touch himself and wished for canvas, since this was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

 

Bucky didn't waste time. After a few minutes, he laid down flat again and freed himself, then gestured for Steve to step closer. Steve did so and tipped his head back as Bucky smoothed lube over Steve's cock, lingering over the head and tip.

 

When Bucky let go, Steve grabbed his wrist with one hand, using the other to guide his cock inside Bucky. He had to stop and press his forehead to Bucky's chest, taking slow, deep breaths to keep himself from coming again.

 

"And you say I'm a tease," Bucky said, grinding up against him even though Steve was already buried all the way inside.

 

Steve ran his tongue over Bucky's nipple, coaxing it to a peak. "Payback's a bitch, I guess."

 

Bucky grabbed his ass and dug his nails in. Steve got the hint. Just to make sure he had control of himself, he started slow, holding Bucky down by the hips to keep him still. Bucky didn't struggle; instead he let out deep, low moans whenever Steve moved. Steve wasn't sure if he was doing it on purpose, but it was driving him crazy. He took Bucky in hand and stroked him in time with his thrusts.

 

Bucky stilled, digging his hand into the carpet. "Oh, fuck, just like that."

 

Steve kissed him again to swallow the noises Bucky was making. Bucky tensed and then arched up as he came into Steve's fist. Steve stilled, waiting for Bucky to finish. He made to pull away, but Bucky shook his head, reaching for Steve's hip. "Stay right there," Bucky said, breathless. "I want you inside me as long as possible."

 

Steve hesitated. Then he kissed Bucky again, waiting for him to relax. Once he was still, Steve rocked against him, taking it slow even though he needed release. Bucky sighed into his mouth and shifted his hips to let Steve in even deeper.

 

Steve pressed his face into the side of Bucky's neck, trying to draw it out further, but the scent of Bucky's sweat and his spunk was driving him crazy. And Bucky didn't help by trailing a lazy hand over Steve's hair and murmuring, "Are you going to come again or just bore me to death?"

 

"Is that how it is?" Steve asked, pausing mid-thrust.

 

Bucky tugged on Steve's hair, but without much force, just to remind Steve he was there. "Made me wait the better part of a century. Another few minutes doesn't matter much."

 

Steve took in a breath. But he didn't want to think about any of that, not when Bucky was warm and eager beneath him and they had all the time in the world together.

 

He began to move again, slow but deliberate, focusing on the way Bucky moved beneath him and the growing need inside him. When he came, he gasped Bucky's name into his ear until Bucky turned and kissed him quiet.

 

Eventually they climbed into the gigantic four poster bed, and it was like sleeping on a cloud. But for a long time they lay together on the floor, talking about nothing as though they'd been doing this every day of their lives. Like they'd been wise enough to take the chances they'd been offered before this. Like they knew they had forever.


End file.
